


A Fine and Terrible Thing

by ThinkingofWordstoWrite



Category: White Collar
Genre: Diana and Jones are famous war heroes, Gen, Mentions of Death, Neal's just a regular old soldier, Other - Freeform, Peter is an old man, WWII AU, Wildly AU, but not really, he doesn't expect to accidentally stumble upon three very famous war heroes, language/swearing, not a cracky fic, possible PTSD, sort of a 'Captain America meets White Collar, war hate, who serves the army during the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingofWordstoWrite/pseuds/ThinkingofWordstoWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WWII AU. Peter is an old man in the army, and has a team of Jones and Diana. Together the three of them are taking a bit of refuge in an abandoned warehouse, where Peter is unexpectedly joined by Neal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fine and Terrible Thing

**Author's Note:**

> -I do not own White Collar.  
> -This was an idea I randomly had. I don't think it will actually do well, but I figured why not post it anyway, just to have something on my AO3 account?   
> -Comments and reviews are love!

“Goddamn this bloody war,” The old man said, as he lit his fag. He took a deep breath as he drew in the smoke, and then let it out slowly, watching as the smoke curled up into the air. He was just reaching the age of eighty, when old men had no right to be in yet older wars. He didn’t like the way things were then, and he didn’t like the way things were then. 

“Fuckin’ hypocrites,” 

He snarled suddenly-at who, he wasn’t sure-into the still and unnatural silence-the silence before bombs were once more dropped upon London and its inhabitants. The silence before more death would be forthcoming, more wounded soldiers-both old and young-would be screaming and crying and shouting in agony and fear and fury at the unfairness of it all. 

“Something tells me I should’ve just stuck with being a bloody gardener,” The old man murmured, as he continued keeping watch. The few men that were with him were quietly passed out on the rough, harsh cold ground. Winter was approaching, and it was looking to be a bitterly cold and long one. Which would make this war even more hellish than it already was. 

The familiar howls came, as some of the warehouses blew the whistles. The poor women who worked there, who gave up everything they owned just so that they could have a place to call home-even their firstborn children. Those poor souls…his eyes grew misty at the thought, and he turned angrily away from the warehouses, trying to drown out the noise of the howls. 

He’d rather hear the bombs being dropped.

He didn’t get his wish.

But he would soon enough. 

With the background noise of women wailing and whistles blowing, he didn’t hear one of his best men coming up behind him. 

“Got another one of those?” The young man asked, making him jerk his gun around before he realized who it was. 

“Shit,” He snarled at him. “Just for that, no I ain’t got one, ya bastard.” 

“Fine,” The young man said, shrugging as he took up the right hand side of the entranceway of the broken and burned down warehouse that they were in. For a little bit there was silence between them, but that silence wasn’t true silence-not with the terrible racket going on in the background. “Hey,” The soldier spoke suddenly, and the old man itched to be able to shoot him…he could claim it was friendly fire. Maybe they’d send him home? “Do you think that this war will ever end? I mean…it’s a fine and terrible thing, but…” 

“How can war be a fine thing, lad?” He demanded, harshly. The boy didn’t even look ashamed at saying such. 

“We’ve learned to fight, to defend ourselves. We’ve learned that there is no such thing as black and white. We’ve seen things…things that we never would’ve been able to see had it not been for the enemy.” He paused, and said slowly, “If I hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have all the letters that I’ve been getting from my wife. The pictures of my boy. I wouldn’t…we wouldn’t…” 

“Boy,” The old man spoke softly. “You’re right. But then again, you ain’t. This war…this awful goddamn war…” He shook his head.

Silence fell once more, and the two simply looked out into the burning buildings and the ash that rained from the sky, and for a moment it was almost peaceful. 

But then the air sirens went off. 

“I guess this means our peaceful interlude is up,” The young man said wryly, and the old man chuckled in spite of himself. 

“And here I was beginning to think it would never end,” He said, giving the young man an appreciative look. 

“Can I…can I ask your name?” The soldier looked suddenly bashful and shy, and for a moment the old man just looked at him. 

“Burke,” He said finally. “Peter Burke.” 

The young man gaped. 

“Peter Burke? But-you’re the most legendary agent out there! Are you telling me that I’ve been chatting with a hero-a man that’s never left a soldier behind!-and…God, Mozzie will be SO ENVIOUS!” The boy said, enthusiastically. 

Suddenly, the two other soldiers in the room had woken up. 

“Hey, boss,” They were both of dark color, and-the young soldier suddenly realized that one of them wasn’t a man after all, but a women. Rare, but cool. “Thanks for letting us sleep.” 

“Yeah, nothing like closing your eyes and dreaming of blood dripping from your helmet as you’re trying to sneak into enemy territory,” The woman said cheerfully, though her eyes were grim and resigned. 

The young man stared at them. 

“Wait-are you…you’re Jones and Die, aren’t you? You two are rather legendary yourselves!” He exclaimed, stunned. 

“Jones and Die? What kind of a name is that?” The woman demanded, irritated. “Call me Diana, please.” 

“Jones is fine for me,” Jones said, shrugging. 

The old man-Peter-turned towards them. 

“We’ve got new orders. We’re to go take out a guy named Keller. Hughes says that he’s selling American secrets to the Germans. We’ve got to move,” Peter ordered. 

“Nice meeting you kid,” Jones patted the young soldier on the back, before heading out, grabbing his helmet along the way. 

“Yeah, you seem like a nice sort. Hope you don’t get dead,” Diana added cheerfully, before disappearing as well. 

For a moment it was only the young soldier and Peter standing together in the broken down warehouse.

“Well, I’ve got to go.” Peter hesitated, as the young soldier stared at him. “If ever you need a job, kid, look up Hughes at the National Airport.” Peter shouldn’t be telling him this, but-for some strange reason, he TRUSTED the kid. He paused one final moment and asked, “What’s your name, kid?” 

“Caffrey,” The young man said with a smirk on his face that didn’t match his uniform at all. “Neal Caffrey,” 

For a moment the two glanced at one another, then the sound of a high pitched whistle sounded-and then the familiar return of bombs began sounding through the area. 

“BOSS!” Diana shouted over the radio, and Peter shook his head. 

“You take care of yourself, Caffrey. Duck and cover. Try not to play hero. And for god’s sake, don’t do anything stupid.” 

“I could say the same to you,” Caffrey said, but the words didn’t matter.

For Peter was already gone.

And all that remained were the heavy sounds of war.  
==  
End


End file.
